Feathers and Braids
by Caliente
Summary: one-shot vignette set during the X-Men's first stint in San Francisco –– Logan isn't sure what's harder, not having his memories or remembering everything. A story of triggers, lost loves, feathers and braids. More than just morning banter! –– FanFic100 #11: Red


**Author's Note:** I wrote this originally for the FanFic100 prompt: red (though it ended up fitting a few others, too). It's set vaguely around Uncanny X-Men #503 mostly because that's the most recent comic I read that both characters (and Logan's car) appeared in. The woman Logan mentions was seen in a flash of memory in the Wolverine: Origins arc of Wolverine v3 (confused yet?) but I made up the details about her, so I've no idea if they're accurate or balking canon. Also, I'm sorry to again say, this is unbeta'd—my normal one is still M.I.A. Any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Cheers!  
**Disclaimer: **Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of Marvel Characters, Inc. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.

**Feathers and Braids  
**by, Caliente

It's rare to find her hair in braids these days. Rarer still for her to pair them with feathers and a headband. She's often seen sporting one (the headband in particular) but all at once? For whatever reason, that's no longer her style.

It's odd, he thinks, after she fought so hard for her individuality that she'd move more toward the social norm. He's never asked her about it, though, and he doesn't think that will change any time soon. They're not close—never have been, and it's not in his nature to pry. He has enough secrets to respect the right of others to keep theirs.

Still, when the light hits her that day—the day that she chooses to once again done her braids, headband and feathers—he's struck by a memory. It's not a feeling he's accustomed to, even after the time that's passed since M-Day.

He doesn't realize he's staring until she glances his way. "Morning, Logan," she greets, lifting her mug of coffee and crossing to the table where he's sitting. She doesn't hesitate to take a section of the newspaper from the pile in front of him but that doesn't surprise him. She's never been the type to tread lightly and, more to the point, she's never been afraid of him. Apparently, more than just her power status would have to change before that did.

"Dani," he responds with a nod before returning to the sports section. Yesterday was not a good day in hockey for the Canucks and it isn't long before he tosses it aside, scowling. The rustle of turning pages has him looking her way again and there's another flash of memory. It tugs at his mind and he can't help but think it's important. Things are rarely so insistent otherwise.

She must feel his gaze because she flips the top of the paper down to look him in the eyes. "Something I can help you with?" she asks pointedly.

He isn't sure if it's curiosity or discomfort that has pushed her to speak—she's never been one to mince words or fill comfortable silences unnecessarily—but it doesn't really matter. His answer is the same either way: "No."

One eyebrow arches delicately and he blinks. Whatever she's thinking, she brushes it off because the next moment she's looking at her paper again. "Okay," she says simply. "Let me have the sports section when you're done."

It's almost refreshing, not being pushed and prodded about his _feelings_ and _sharing_. Maybe a little disappointing, though he'd never admit that. Silently, he hands her the offensive section and picks up the world news instead.

It's silent between them for a few long minutes, nothing but papers turning and coffee being sipped to break the monotony. Normally, it'd be strange to find the room so empty but it's early still and a weekend, too. It's comfortable save the memories gnawing at him, begging to be remembered.

"You're hair," he comments suddenly, not even realizing he's spoken until she looks at him with confusion written on her face as plain as day. "You don't wear it like that anymore."

Her eyebrows are furrowed and he has the distinct impression she thinks he's crazy but, slowly, she nods. Her lips are pursed and he notices that they're not quite as plump as the set in his memories. Her eyes are wider, too, and hair longer. The face shape is similar, though, and the skin. Tan skin that he remembers in more ways than could be considered decent.

"I don't," she agrees finally, touching the ends almost self-consciously. Then she shrugs. "Tastes change; people change. All part of growing up, I guess."

He grunts, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It sounds like something she's recited at least a dozen times but he isn't sure if he's disappointed because it's so very trite or because she didn't answer his unasked questions.

Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. "If you don't mind me asking, Logan, why the sudden interest?" From her tone, it's obvious she doesn't care if he does mind or not. When he doesn't respond immediately, she adds, "Because, if you're looking for a new style, I have to tell you—I don't think this one is the real you."

"Ha-ha," he replies dryly, emphasizing each syllable. He waves her off, though, content to keep his personal thoughts just that—personal. "It's nothing."

She's holding her coffee with both hands as she rolls her eyes at him. "Right. And Shan likes boys." The sarcasm in her voice doesn't impress him (little does at his age) but the defiance in her gaze does.

He thinks if he hadn't had Kitty, he probably would've liked to work with her for her attitude alone. Well, her or Rahne—the wolf thing always has resonated with him.

Taking his silence to mean he isn't going to answer her, she shrugs. "None of my business." There's a slight undercurrent of something like frustration in her words, though he isn't certain if it's at him for not satisfying her curiosity or herself for being curious in the first place.

He decides to let it lie and quiet falls between them again. He's just making his way onto the local news section when she speaks again. "He told me he liked the braids," she whispers, eyes glued to the paper. There's a glazed sort of look in her eyes and he's sure she's not seeing any of the words in front of her. Then she turns to him. "Jimmy—James, I mean. Told me when we were students."

Suddenly, he understands. As a Valkyrie, she didn't wear them—she wouldn't have been able to. But when she came back and he'd moved on... she didn't go back. Didn't want him to think she was doing it for _him_. That explained the brief resurrection when she came back to teach for Xavier and subsequent disappearance when James returned to be part of the team again.

"You think I'm ridiculous," she mutters, face ashen as she again misinterprets his silence. "Well, you're right. It was just a stupid crush but I can't stop remembering whenever I—"

He places a hand on her arm and she cuts herself off, big brown eyes blinking up at him. "I don't think you're ridiculous, Dani," he assures her with a squeeze. "Trust me, I know all about holding onto things that other people have long forgotten."

Despite her grim expression, she chuckles. It's just a bit watery but he dismisses it. He's found that people (READ: women) tend to be more emotional during the early and late hours of the day.

Awkwardly, he releases her and moves his hand away to run through his hair. His movements are agitated but only slightly. Finally, he comes to a decision. If she can be honest with him about something that obviously still hurts her, then he can do the same. It's not like she's Emma, who'd use it against him later, or 'Ro who, well-meaning or not, would likely gossip to at least one other team member. She's Dani and even though they're not close and probably never will be, he feels he owes her this.

"I still can't remember her name," he starts, carefully keeping his expression neutral. "I've tried but..." He can feel her eyes on him but it's the feather in her hair that has his gaze. Almost without meaning to, he reaches toward it. "She always had a red feather in her hair, though. She was an Indian, like you—Ottawa, I think. And she loved to braid her hair."

Understanding dawns on her face. "You loved her." It isn't a question.

He suppresses a sigh and nods. "I think I did." It's so hard to remember but he genuinely believes that. The realization is more comforting than he would have expected.

She's smiling as she takes his hand in her hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. Then she plucks a red feather from her hair and hands it to him. He tries to wave her off but she insists, placing it in his palm and curling his fingers around it.

In that moment, the sun shining brightly behind her head like a halo, she looks so much like the phantom in his memory it nearly breaks his heart. But it doesn't and he forces a gruff smile, nodding. "Thank you."

There's a heaviness between them now and he knows they won't be able to end the conversation there without feeling awkward. She must feel it, too, because the next moment she's grinning in a way that is completely _Dani_ and no one else. "Talk is cheap," she informs him cheerfully. "Thank me by letting me drive the Maserati."

It's enough to snap him out of it. "I don't think so," he says with a smirk.

She's pouting just a little. "Why not?" she presses, not giving him a real chance to answer. Her track record may be better than most of the X-Men (no trashed jets, for instance) but everybody knows that _no one _drives his car but him. "Come on, Logan..."

"No way, kid." She looks torn between amusement and objecting to the title, so he saves her the trouble of settling for a response by moving on. "But I will give you a ride. Anywhere you want... at one-eighty-five."

Now she's smiling again. "Deal." She's absentmindedly untying her braids, a triumphant look on her face. "Sam and Bobby are going to be _so_ jealous."

He laughs a little, shaking his head. Partly because she's right—the Hayseed and Brazilian rich boy will undoubtedly be green with envy, even if they both have pretty sweet rides—and partly because she's successfully diffused the situation. He thinks she probably is a pretty good teacher-slash-mentor for the kids; not only is she a survivor but she's smart. She knows people, and she knows how to get what she wants. Apparently Summers knew what he was doing. (This time, anyway.)


End file.
